Daughters Of The Bride(5)

If she’d mentioned either of those things to Lily’s mom, she would guess the other woman would have told her to talk to Greg. That was what husbands were for.

There was only one flaw with that plan—she and Greg weren’t married anymore. The most amazing boy in school slash football captain slash homecoming king had indeed married her. A few weeks before their tenth anniversary he’d cheated and she’d divorced him. Now at thirty-three, she found herself living as one of the most pitied creatures ever—a divorced woman with a child about to hit puberty. And there wasn’t enough smoky eye or hair color to make that situation look the least bit pretty.

She finished cleaning up and retreated to the break room for a few minutes before her last client—a double appointment of sixteen-year-old twins who wanted their hair to be “the same but different” for the dance. Rachel reached for the bottle of ibuprofen she kept in her locker and shook out two pills.

As she swallowed them with a gulp of water, her cell phone beeped. She glanced at the screen.

Hey you. Toby’s up for keeping both boys Thursday night. Let’s you and me go do something fun. A girls’ night out. Say yes.

Rachel considered the invitation. The rational voice in her head said she should do as her friend requested and say yes. Break out of her rut. Put on something pretty and spend some time with Lena. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d done anything like that.

The rest of her, however, pointed out that not only hadn’t she done laundry in days, but she was also behind on every other chore it took to keep her nonworking life running semi-smoothly. Plus, what was the point? They would go to a bar by the pier and then what? Lena was happily married. She wasn’t interested in meeting men. And although Rachel was single and should be out there flashing her smile, she honest to God didn’t have the energy. She was busy every second of every day. Her idea of a good time was to sleep late and have someone else make breakfast. But there wasn’t anyone else. Her son needed her, and she made sure she was always there. Taking care of business.

She’d been nine when her father had died suddenly. Nine and the oldest of three girls. She still remembered her mother crouched in front of her, her eyes filled with tears. “Please, Rachel. I need you to be Mommy’s best girl. I need you to help take care of Sienna and Courtney. Can you do that for me? Can you hold it all together?”

She’d been so scared. So unsure of what was going to happen next. What she’d wanted to say was that she was still a kid and, no, holding it together wasn’t an option. But she hadn’t. She’d done her best to be all things to everyone. Twenty-four years later, that hadn’t changed.

She glanced back at her phone.

Want to come over for a glass of wine and PB&J sandwiches instead?

I’ll come over for wine and cheese. And I’ll bring the cheese.

Perfect. What time should I drop off Josh?

Let’s say 7. Does that work?

Rachel sent the thumbs-up icon and set her phone back in her locker, then closed the door. Something to look forward to, she told herself. Plans on a Thursday night. Look at her—she was practically normal.





2

“MRS. TROWBRIDGE IS DEAD.”

Sienna Watson looked up from her desk. “Are you sure?” She bit her lower lip. “What I meant is, how awful. Her family must be devastated.” She drew in a breath. “Are you sure?”

Seth, the thirtysomething managing director of The Helping Store, leaned against the door frame. “I have word directly from her lawyer. She passed two weeks ago and was buried this past Saturday.”

Sienna frowned. “Why didn’t anyone tell us? I would have gone to the funeral.”

“You’re taking your job too seriously. It’s not as if she would have known you were there.”

Sienna supposed that was true. What with Mrs. Trowbridge being dead and all. Still... Anita Trowbridge had been a faithful donor to The Helping Store for years—contributing goods for the thrift shop and money for various causes. Upon her death, the thrift shop was to inherit all her clothes and kitchen items, along with ten thousand dollars.

Unfortunately, nearly six months before, Sienna had received word of Mrs. Trowbridge’s passing. After the lawyer had given his okay, she’d sent a van and two guys to the house to collect their bequest...only to be confronted by Mrs. Trowbridge’s great-granddaughter. Erika Trowbridge had informed the men that her great-grandmother was still alive and they could take their vulture selves away until informed otherwise.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Seth said now as he pushed up his glasses. “The lawyer gave you the key to the house.”